


Things of Brass and Copper

by Wandering



Category: Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Allomancy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, No Mistborn Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering/pseuds/Wandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barrayar has fallen into civil war and anarchy, the Imperium is threatened and Simon Illyan isn’t even sure that he cares anymore.</p><p>A Vorkosigan Saga AU where Allomancy exists on Barrayar and Prince Serg survived Escobar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things of Brass and Copper

Barrayar has fallen into civil war and anarchy, the imperium is threatened and Simon Illyan isn’t even sure that he cares anymore.

The Emperor he served, body and soul, is dead. His son seems determined to destroy everything his father created and alternates between warmongering speeches and hedonistic pleasure parties.

There is a knock at his door.

“Come in,” says Simon , suppressing a sigh. He gathers his thoughts and sets his face to a neutral expression, trying hard to imitate the controlled all-knowing aura of the late Captain Negri.

Alys Vorpatril enters his office. She is wearing a long flowing blue dress, a little looser than the current fashion, and a white bolero with silver embroidery. Her eyes are red rimmed, and there are tear streaks on her cheeks.

“Padma’s just been executed,” she says without preamble.

“What?” breaths Simon, the shock of the event disrupting his carefully controlled aura of omnipotence. “Why, on what grounds?” He accesses his Copperminds, looking for something to provide an answer. He finds nothing.

“Treason,” says Lady Alys with a bitter almost laugh. “He refused to publically call for the death of Lady Vorkosigan, so Serg had him executed. There and then. No trial, just a nerve disrupter blast to the back of the head. I was there.”

She starts to shake a little, but doesn’t cry. Simon admires her ability to keep her composure even after watching her husband get killed in front of her.

“Please, sit,” says Simon, indicating one of the hard plastic chairs facing his desk. She takes a seat gracefully. “I don’t mean to be rude my lady, but why are you here? What can I do for you?”

“Aral gave us your name. He said that if we ever really needed help, we could go to you. That you could help us get out of the city, and to somewhere safe.” He eyes are red rimmed but there are no tears, just steady determination.

“Why didn’t you come before?” he asks. “Surely you knew it wasn’t safe for you here- Padma was Aral’s cousin, and the two were known to be close.”

“We tried,” she replies. “But Padma was always closely watched by someone from the Ministry of Political Education- one of Grishnov’s men. Serg always saw him as a threat, I think, since he was descended from Emperor Dorca through Prince Xav. He didn’t like any potential rivals.”

That, Simon could easily agree with, seeing as that was how the whole civil war had gotten started in the first place. Damn Aral for marrying that Betan feruchemist!

“So you need to get out of the city?” he asks.

She nods. “Yes, and soon.”

Simon looks at her for a moment, before dipping into his Coppermind, scrolling through his lists and information till he finds his records on Lady Alys Vorpatril.

“I see,” he says slowly, after a minute or so of searching. “You’re pregnant.”

She looks startled and a little discomforted at his revelation, but nods, slowly once.

“I need to leave before it becomes obvious. I’m safe enough for now, but once it becomes apparent that I’m pregnant with a descendant of Xav Vorbarra…” Her voice trails off, unwilling to continue. Simon can’t blame her. If Serg finds out, a quick death like Padma’s is the best she can hope for.

“I will get you out,” he tells her, although right now he has no idea how he’s going to do it. “It will take me a little while to finalize my plan. I will contact you when we are ready.”

“How?” she asks.

“I’ll figure out a way. You cannot come back here though; it would be far too suspicious.”

She nods.

A slight problem suddenly occurs to Simon. “Are you going to have trouble explaining this visit?” he asks. It would bad for the both of them if Serg started to wonder why the newly widowed Lady Vorpatril was associating with a former… acquaintance of Aral Vorkosigan.

“No,” she says, with an ironic smile. “I am currently not a high priority target, now that my husband is dead. I only have one watcher, and his suspicions have been… soothed away.”

He gives her a nod of comprehension, and she smiles back. She then turns to go, but not before saying thank you. The door quietly closes behind her.

Simon sits back down in his chair, and begins to think of a plan for escape. There are few options. Serg has been very cautious in his control of Vorrbar Sultana, instituting check points for everyone entering and exiting, ostensibly for their own protection. 

This rules going by groundcar. While there is no law explicitly against it, the Vor are “highly encouraged” to remain with the city, and would be detained at a check point. The guards there are specifically trained to notice anyone touching on their emotions, so even Lady Alys Soothing won’t help them there.

Pedestrians are likewise challenged, and although Simon knows several secret escape tunnels, none of them actually lead out of the city.

He leans back in his chair, pouring deep into his Copperminds for any relevant information that might help. The sewer system – a possibility, although it has limited access points and gets too narrow to continue in places. Maintenance tunnels for water pipes- rejected, the system is not all linked together, but rather broken into several self contained chunks.  Perhaps they could leave through the air, where they could attempt to avoid the air patrol in a aircar or lightfliger. Ofcourse, that would be relying on the assumption Serg would not try to blast them out of the sky.

He is so deep in though, that the ringing on his com console startles him. He answers the call, and the face of General Tigellus, the new head of ImpSec since Negri’s death, appears over the plate.

Simon salutes him. Tigellus acknowledges this with a nod of his head.

“Illyan – new orders,” the general says at once, not wasting anytime on pleasantries, “This is to go out to all ImpSec- I expect you to pass this down to your subordinates. Lady Alys Vorpatril is to be detained at once, to be handed over to the Ministry of Political Education.”

Simon feels an icy chill forming in his stomach. “Yes, sir,” he says, keeping his face as blank as possible. “Is there any reason given?”

Tigellus gives a wave of his hand. “Just some stupid rumor that some old Vor biddy heard, and went and told his Majesty. She claims she was burning tin, and managed to hear a conversation between Lady Alys and the feruchemist, where they were both discussing their pregnancies.”

“That seems odd,” says Simon, “Considering that Lady Cor- the feruchemist has not been in the city for over five months now. Why would this gossip only come forward now?”

“Damned if I know,” says Tigellus, “But it’s none of our business. We have our orders.”

“Sir!” says Simon, seeing that the other man’s chatty mood has come to an end. He salutes and the other man does likewise before cutting the com channel.

Simon gives himself five seconds to calm down before running out into the hallway after Lady Alys. He catches up to her in the corridor just outside the east conference room.

“My Lady,” he says into her ear, as quietly as he can, “We need to go now.”

She turns to face him. “Now?” she asks. Her eyes are wide, but apart from that she remains perfectly composed, a shining example of Vor dignity.

“Yes. The Emperor has heard a rumor that you are expecting. He has sent men to find and asses the validity of this gossip.”

“Very well,” she says, “Lead on.”

The two of the walk down the corridor in as much of an even pace as Simon can manage. Too slow, and they might be caught. To fast, and they risk drawing attention to themselves. They take a right, and left and then another left. They are almost to the exit when Simon hears heavy running footsteps up ahead.

“Stay here,” he tells Lady Alys in a whisper, and then he steps further down the corridor to investigate.  It was times like these that he wishes that he had the supersensory powers of a tineye- but no, the price for that was far too high. He can manage just fine without.

As he approaches, he can see a group of men, armed with stunners and nerve disruptors, clustered around the door. He presses his back to the wall, hoping they won’t see him, but they all seem to be focused on their commanding officer.

“Guard all the exits,” a burly man that Simon doesn’t recognize is saying, “We cannot let her escape. The Emperor wants to see her at once.”

Around him, his men salute once, and then spread out to their various tasks. Three go to stand by the door, nerve disrupters in hand, while the others pair off and start moving down the corridors.

Simon returns to Lady Alys.

“We need to hide. They’ve started searching for you. Soldiers will be here any minute.”

“Where do you propose? I think they will find us rather quickly if we hide in a supply cupboard, and I assume they know all the secret ImpSec bolt holes.”

Simon thinks as fast as he can, pouring through the information in his copperminds to try and find something that would work, something secret, that even the Ministry of Political Education wouldn’t know about.

Then it comes to him. It’s a stupid, dangerous idea, but it’s all he can think of, so it will have to do.

“Somewhere they will never suspect.” He grabs her hand, and they backtrack a little before going right, and gradually weaving their way to the other side of the building.

Eventually, he finds what he is looking for, a small door label “Maintenance.” It’s locked, but with a push button pad instead of a palm lock.  Simon finds the opening code in his coppermind, and enters the 16 digit long number. The door swings open with a quiet hiss.

The two step inside, pulling the door shut behind them. It is a small room, with pipes running against the wall, and a lone light bulb swinging on a cord from the center of the ceiling. On one wall is a small hatch, meant to access electrical wiring. There is a warning label on it, a black exclamation mark inside a red circle and a small drawing showing a stick figure being electrocuted.

“Will this be safe?” ask Lady Alys, “You can’t be the only one who knows the code.”

“I’m not,” says Simon, “But by the time they find someone else who knows it, we’ll be long gone.”

Lady Alys raises an eyebrow, not seeing how they would escape the room.

Simon walks over the pipes on the wall. He counts until he finds the fifth from the right. He runs his hand along the back of it until he finds the small key, stuck there by magnets. He takes it, and then uses it to unlock the electrical hatch, which is not a hatch at all, but instead a passage.

Lady Alys looks impressed.

“After you, My Lady,” he says, gesturing with his hands. She climbs into the opening with a fair amount of grace. “Start crawling,” he says, “I’ll be right behind you.”

Simon takes the key with him as he enters the hatch. It won’t stop pursuit getting through, but it will delay it some. A Mistborn would be needed, burning duralruim with iron, to pull the hatch from the wall. Ezar Vorbarra was nothing if not cautious. 

The passage is narrow and dark, although thankfully not damp. They crawl along it for what seems like an hour, but Simon knows is actually much less.  Eventually the tunnel starts to widen, and the ceiling rises enough that they can stand up. A few minutes after that, they reach the base of a rope ladder with wooden slats.

“Excuse me, Lady Alys, I need to go first,” says Simon, and the two of them manage to switch places in the tunnel with some degree of difficulty. He climbs up the ladder, Lady Alys behind him, and enters a different 16 digit code into the key pad at the top. A panel on the wall slides open, and Simon sticks his head out to check that there is no one around before getting out himself.

He half crawls, half tumbles onto the carpet, before turning to lend a hand to Lady Alys, who manages to exit with much more grace.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking around at the gilded wooden panels and fine carpeting.

“The Imperial Palace,” answers Simon.

“Are you mad!?” she demands, eyes flashing with anger, finally breaking her calm façade.

“It was the only way out that I knew of,” he says. “There another passage that I know of, in the West wing of the palace.  It will take us to the military lightfligher station. We need to hurry though, before they realize that we used the passage from ImpSec and think to have the rest of them watched.”

Lady Alys nods in determination. “Lead on then.”

They race through the corridors as fast as they can, not caring how suspicious it may appear. Speed, not sleath, is necessary here. They’ll have to make it to the lightflyer hanger before anyone realizes where they’re heading, and also before word spreads to the men stationed there.

Still, this section of the palace is the Emperor’s private wing, so the only people they would have to worry about seeing (or rather, being seen by) are the maids, who should have finished their work hours ago. 

Their luck seems to be holding, and Simon begins to let himself relax, as much as he can anyway. Instead of working out what he’d say to any hapless maid, he starts planning how he’ll bluff his way into procuring a lightflyer.

Naturally, it's at this moment that they round a corner to see two people, a woman and a boy. Simon mentally swears, and slows their pace to a walk. It's probably too late, but he does his best to seem unremarkable.

The woman is tall and blond, and is wearing a long beige skirt and an embroidered bolero. Simon thinks he can make out the outline of a weapon under the jacket, and what looks like a pouch, probably filled with powered metal, in each sleeve. She must be a Misting, if not more.

The boy is solemn faced and dark haired, with hazel eyes. In one hand, he holds well-loved stegosaurs plushy, the other is tightly gripping the woman.

“Who are you?” the little boy asks.

“Good evening, Your Majesty. I’m Lady Alys Vorpatril, and this is Simon Illyan. He’s in ImpSec,” replies Lady Alys, and it’s only then that Simon recognizes the shy little boy as his Highness the Crown Prince Gregor Vorbarra.

His thoughts are quickly summed up into one short four letter explicate.

Lady Alys, it appears, is not at all fazed by this encounter with the future emperor. “And who is your friend?” she asks, indicating the tall blond woman standing next to Gregor.

“That’s Droushie. She’s my bodyguard.”

The blond woman gives a curt nod at this.  “What are you doing here in the palace at night?” she demands, pushing her charge behind her as she does.

“We have business here,” says Lady Alys vaguely, and Simon nods in confirmation. The bodygaurd's eyes narrow in suspicion. 

“Was Padma Vorpatril your husband?” the blonde asks.

Alys gives a quick nod of her head. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” says Alys, giving her a grateful smile. Simon realizes that this must be one of the few times this phrase has been said, since most people are too afraid of Serg to even think about comforting the wife of one of his victims.

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” Alys continues, “We really must be going. It was an honor to meet you your highness.” She curtsies to Gregor, and Simon gives a short bow, and the two turn to go.

“You’re escaping, aren’t you? Trying to leave the city.” Simon stops dead in his tracks, and sees Lady Alys freeze beside him. _This is bad_ he thinks.

But Lady Alys, always resourceful, turns around with a graceful smile on her face. “Don’t be silly,” she says, “Why would we ever do that?”

Simon is not a Seeker, but is willing to bet Betan Dollars to dust that Lady Alys is plying her craft on the other woman now, subtly soothing away her suspicions and doubts so that she will let them pass without calling the guards.

If that doesn’t work…Simon absent mindedly fingers the nerve disruptor in his belt. It is treason for anyone but one of the Emperor’s personal guards to drawn a weapon in his presence, or that of his immediate family, but that is the least of their problems at this point.

“Stop doing that,” Droushie? –that cannot be her real name- says, and Lady Alys’ polite smile disappears from her face. Simon grips his nerve disruptor, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.

The girl obviously sees his movements because she pushes Gregor all the way behind her with one hand while reaching for her stunner with the other.

She’s fast, but Simon is faster, and before she can reach her weapon, he has his up and pointed at her head. “Don’t move,” he says.

She slowly raises her hands. “Wait,” she says, “You’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t want to turn you in. I want us to go with you.”

Simon lowers his nerve disrupter in shock. “What? Why?”

“His mother asked me to get him away, right before her murder. She said that he wasn’t safe here, that Serg was insane, and that she was scared what her son would be come if her were left here with his father. I don’t disagree with her analysis at all.”

Simon finally manages to find her in his Copperminds and place her as Ludmilla Droushnakovi, a “servant of the inner chamber”, really a bodyguard to Princess Kareen, and now Prince Gregor.

“I though Princess Kareem died of an illness,” says Lady Alys slowly.

Drou gives a bitter smile. “Only if being stabbed in the chest – five times- counts as getting sick.”

“Why haven’t you tried to escape on your own then?” Simon asks suspiciously. “You must know where some of the escape tunnels are, and their access codes.” Even Serg wouldn’t leave his son unprotected in case of an attack penetrating the palace itself.

“I know a few,” admits Drou, “But my codes were given to me by the Emperor. If I ever use one, he’ll be alerted at once, and can send soldiers to intercept the other end of the tunnel. The other escape routes, the ones without access codes, he has watched. The only passage that he might not know about is the one in the Emperor’s bedroom, but that’s always guarded, even when he’s not there.”

“Simon!” hisses Lady Alys, “Will this be a problem for us to?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m using Emperor Ezar’s personal access codes, and to the best of my knowledge” –every perfectly remembered morsel- “Serg never got his hands on those.” Negri, Ezar and himself were the only ones to know those codes, and the other two men were dead, killed in the Komarran terrorist attack that put Serg on the throne.

“Very well,” says Lady Alys, after sharing a look with Simon, “You can come with us. But we have to hurry.”

The four of them start moving down the corridor, going as fast as Gregor’s little legs can keep up. A part of Simon says that this is a bad idea, that he could just give Drou the code, and let her and Gregor escape later. 

The rest of him knows that this is (probably) the best way. While he has little doubt in Drou’s skill as a bodyguard, he has no idea in her skills in esacpe and deception. Could she navigate the streets of Vorbarr Sultana at night, bluff her way past a security checkpoint with a four year old in tow? And where would she go from there on her own, avoiding Vorbarra and Vorkosigan soldiers alike? At least Simon can get her an audience with Aral, or better yet Cordelia.

Simon is secure in his decision to bring them along, when they turn the corner, at which point he promptly changes his mind. A group of soldiers is lying in wait there, and they are definitely less surprised to see Simon that he is to see them.

He is relieved to see that none of the men are armed with nerve disruptors, or even worse, plasma arcs. They must have orders to capture, not kill.

Since he is the first one around the corner, the first volley of coins is aimed mostly at him. He manages to duck and dodge out of the way, and is only hit by one which clips him on his arm.

“One’s a Smoker!” yells Drou. She has pushed Gregor behind her, and is now firing at the men with her stunner. Most of her shots go wide, since she is more concentrated on keeping Gregor out of the line of fire than taking aim, but she manages to hit one fellow in the chest.

The significance of her remark is not lost on Simon. Drou herself must be a Seeker.

From what he can tell from the corner of his eye, Lady Alys is trying to sooth the men, too little affect.

“Hit them with something big, all at one!” he yells to her. Her brows furrow in confusion, but then immediately widen as she gets his meaning.

A few seconds later, the men’s face slacken for an instant as Lady Alys flares tin and they are hit by a powerful soothing. All but one, that is, allowing Simon to pick out which one was burning copper. Sometimes being unaffected by emotion alomancy is not all it’s cracked up to be, he thinks, as he takes careful aim with the nerve disrupter and brings the man down.

The distraction caused by the soothing has also allowed Drou to take down two more men with her stunner. Only three are left now.

“Can you tell what they’re burning?” he asks Drou, ask they duck back behind the corner they first rounded. Lady Alys is already back there, holding Gregor’s hand.

“The tall one on the right’s a Thug,” she says, “And the one with the moustache is a Coinshot.”

“The other?”

“I think the chubby one is a Rioter, but I’m not sure.”

“Right,” says Simon, “On the count of three, I’ll go after the Coinshot. Cover me. Alys, stay back her with Gregor.”

Everybody nods. “One, two-”

Before Simon can make it any further, a needle grenade is thrown around the corner.

“Run!” he yells. Needle grenades are bad enough on their own, but with a Coinshot to amphilphy the power, they turn into exceptionally deadly weapons. A lurcher, of course would be able to take care of one easily, pull all the metallic fragments towards a shield they carry on their person. Unfortunately, if there was anyone who could burn iron around, they were surely on the opposite side.

They dash down the corridor, but only make it a few steps before the grenade goes off.

Simon winces in pain as a metal fragments cut into his left leg and hip. He wants to collapse and fall to the floor, but there's no time for that now. With the adreniline pouring through his veins, he grabs a hypospray filled with a powerful painkiller from his medkit, and injects it into his arm, before running back down the corridor, to where the enemy is.

They’re not expecting him, probably thinking him felled, or at least delayed by the grenade, so Simon manages to take down two in quick succession. The third man, the one Droushnakovi had identified as the Thug, is quicker than his comarades, and had started both to move and fire back.

Both his shots go wide, but Simon ducks behind the corner again, mostly to catch his breath. The painkiller has not kicked in all the way yet, but his adrenaline is helping admirably. Taking a deep breath, he comes out from the corner again, firing continuously as he does so. The Thug returns fire in kind.

Somehow Simon manages a lucky shot that hits the other man in the stomach. He convulses, and falls on the floor, his weapon falling out of his hand.  Simon picks it up, not even bothering to check if the Thug is still alive. It’s hardly relavent. He’s not going anywhere with the lower half of his body paralysed.

Simon limps back up the corridor to look at the others. Lady Alys seems to be fine, apart from a few superficial wounds on her arms and legs. Droushnakovi is likewise relatively uninjured. They were the farthest away from the needle grenade when it went off.

But Gregor…Gregor was the closest. He is lying on the floor, face deathly pale as blood seeps out from a wound in his side. Simon doesn’t need to check his copperminds to know that it is fatal. A medtech would take too long to arrive, if one could be summonded at all, and he has nothing in his emergency medkit that could replenish all that blood.

Droushnakovi has done her best to staunch bleeding, and bandage the wound, using strips of cloth hastily torn from her and Lady Aly’s skirts, but Simon can tell that its not enough, that Gregor has lost too much blood.

There’s nothing they can do, and the Prince will die here, from a wound inflicted by his father’s men. Serg, in his dynastic paranoia, managed to kill his only son and heir. The irony does not escape him.

 _No_ , he thinks, as a terrible idea begins to form, _that’s not quite true._ There is something he can do, but at what cost, both to the boy, and the future of Barrayar itself? They would not prosper under another mad ruler.

 _No,_ Simon thinks, _No I cant._ But it is the only way he can think of to save the Prince’s-no – to save Gregor’s life. He glances down at the boy, who has slipped into unconsciousness, small face still pinched tight with pain. He has to make up his mind soon – no, he has to act soon. There are no other options.

Simon looks at the two women. “Do either of you have anything made of steel?” he asks, desperately.

“Why do you care about metal when the Crown Prince is bleeding out on the floor?” demands Drou angrily, from her place at Gregor’s side on the floor. She’s holding on the boy’s hand as tight as she can, as if she could save his life by not letting go.

“It’s important,” says Simon, “It could save his life.”

Drou looks skeptical at this, but she’s as desperate as he is. “We were eating dinner in Gregor’s room when we heard you outside. I believe the knives are steel.”

“Allomancer’s steel?” he asks. He doesn’t know how well this would work with an impure alloy.

“How would I know,” she responds.

“Right,” Simon stands up from his crouch. “It will have to do. Lady Alys, could you please go fetch one of the knifes?” She gives him an inquiring look, but goes anyway.

Simon walks over to the body of one of their attackers, the Thug who was burning pewter. He’s still alive, which is good. Simon goes through the pockets of his uniform until he finds a small bag filled with the fine dust of allomancer’s pewter. The man has a small flask filled with water at his hip, presumably to make swallowing the metal easier. Simon takes that too, and walks back over to Gregor.

The boy is not looking well, and Simon knows he has just minutes left, if even that. He must work quickly. He takes some of the pewter and puts in Gregor’s mouth, giving him a dribble of the water to help him swallow it.

“What good will that do?” demands Drou, but Simon doesn’t respond. He is already deep in his copperminds, checking and rechecking the steps in a procedure he doesn’t even know will work.

Lady Alys returns before too long, carrying two dinner knifes with serrated edges. Simon takes one from her and examines it. As far as he can tell, it’s steel. He tests the blade with his finger, and is relieved to see that it is fairly sharp. Good, that will make it much easier.

Before he can have any more doubts about his plan, he walks over to the Thug, and stabs him through the heart. Behind him, he can hear gasps.

“Simon!” breaths Lady Alys, “What are you doing?”

He ignores her, and walks back over to Gregor, knife in hand. He can’t tell if the boy is still alive anymore. Before Drou can realize what he is about to do, he takes the dinner knife and stabs it through the right side of Gregor’s chest.

Drou is on him in an instant, kicking and screaming and wailing. Simon is prepared for her though, and although he has spent the better part of the last year sitting behind a desk, he is still ImpSec, and still been trained to fight, and fight dirty. He manages to pull free from her attack, and then draw his nerve disrupter from his belt.

He points it at Drou, who draws back slowly, hand raised in surrender, but teeth bared and eyes streaming with tears. Lady Alys also takes a step backwards.

“What have you done?” wails Drou.

Lady Alys eyes are also wide. “You killed him,” she whispers incredulously under her breath. “Simon, please, put the disruptor down.”

He lowers his weapon, but does not holster it. Some of the tension drops from his shoulders.  “You have to understand…” he begins, before he realizes something is wrong.

“Please stop soothing me,” he asks Lady Alys. His voice is calm and collected, and has none of the fiery determination of before, but still must be effective because she stops. He is glad ImpSec had mandatory training to recognize the touch of emotion allomancy, or he else he knows he would not have been able to feel the subtle pull on his emotions.

Lady Alys still looks despairing, and Drou murderous, but Simon ignores both of them, and refocuses his attention on Gregor. He can’t see any change yet, and is still not even sure if his procedure worked. He puts more pewter into the boy’s mouth, and hopes.

A minute passes. As far as Simon can tell, nothing changes.

“Are you burning bronze?” he asks Drou.

“No,” she spits, glaring at the nerve disrupter with hate in her eyes. “Why would I, when the Crown Prince, the boy I swore I’d give my life to protect, is lying dead on the floor?”

“Just do it,” Simon orders.

She only glares back, but must being doing it anyway because a moment her face goes slack with astonishment.

“That’s impossible!” she manages to croak out.

“What?” asks Lady Alys anxiously.

“Gregor…Gregor is burning pewter.”

Simon relaxes, taking a deep breath. It had worked.

“I though the Prince wasn’t a Misting?” questions Lady Alys.

“He’s not,” replies Drou. “Nor a Mistborn either,” she say in response to Lady Alys, next, unasked question.

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” says Drou with a grimace. “I was there. Serg was…through. If Gregor was going to Snap, he would have then.” Simon closes his eyes, trying not to think of what Serg would have done to try and awaken his son’s allomantic powers.

“So what happened?” asks Alys, turning to Simon. “What did you do?”

For a long moment, he stands in silence, not answering her.  

Finally he says “It’s called Hemalurgy. It’s a way to transfer allomantic powers, among other things.” He looks down the corridor. “We should go, before anyone else comes after us.”

Alys nods in agreement. “They must have heard the sounds from our fight. We don’t have much time.”

She and Simon start down the corridor. Drou picks up Gregor, but doesn’t follow them. “You two go on,” she says, “We’re not going anywhere. Gregor’s injured. He can’t be moved.”

“He’ll be fine,” says Simon, “especially if we get him out of here.”

“Fine! How can you say that! You stuck a knife through his chest.”

“It will be alright,” reassures Simon, in the most calming voice he can muster. He hopes Alys is soothing Drou so that she will calm down, and they can all go before someone catches them standing here in the hallway.

“How do you know?” demands Drou. Her questions are understandable, and her concern admirable, but this is not the time for the conversation. Simon decides to end this conversation in the fastest way possible.

“Because it was done to me.” He unbuttons his blood splatted uniform shirt, and pulls it aside to reveal the left side of his chest.  He hears a sharp intake of breath from Lady Alys. Drou says nothing, although her eyes get very wide.

“This is a bronze Hemalurgic spike,” Simon explains. “It is similar to, although not the same as Gregor’s. His gives him the ability to burn pewter, while mine gives me the power to store my memories in bronze like a feruchemist.”

“How…why?” Drou can only ask.

“Emperor Ezar wanted a personal com console:  someone who would be able to remember everything, and store vast quantities of other information. I was one of a group of seven who went to Illyrica for the procedure.”

“So… there are others?” asks Alys carefully.

Simon shakes his head, grimacing at the memory. “No. I’m the only one left. There might be others somewhere in the Nexus but the procedure was deemed illegal two years later. Only the Jacksonian’s do it now- House Canton specializes in it- but everywhere else in the galaxy it’s banned. Although I have my suspicious about the Cetagandans.”

 _And our Emperor_  he thinks, but doesn’t say out loud.

“What happened to the others?” Drou asks accusingly.

Simon doesn’t want to answer the question, and almost doesn’t, but she is Gregor’s protector, and has a right to know.

“Five of us survived the initial procedure. The first two only died because of the surgeon’s carelessness on the operating table. Three later had schizophrenic breakdowns and were institutionalized. One took his own life.” All of which was true. There was no need to metion that the last man had killed himself by pulling out the spike in his left eye, and then stabbing it through the other.

“And these are the risks you exposed Gregor to?” Drou growls.

Simon opens his mouth to speak, but Lady Alys gets there first. “I do not like this anymore that you do,” she says, “but we had no other choice. Gregor was dying. If it weren’t for Simon’s intervention, he would be lying dead on the floor back there, and there would be nothing we could do about it.”

Drou gives a curt nod of acceptance, but her jaw is set and her eyes are livid.

“Good,” says Lady Alys, “Now let us go before someone finds us here and calls Serg.”

The rest of their journey through the place is quick, with no unexpected surprises.  They make it to the escape tunnel easily. Its dark and narrow, with an uneven floor, but the ceiling is high enough that they can stand without stooping. Simon leads, with Alys following and Droushnakovi carrying Gergor bringing up the rear. The Prince is stable for now, but he will need a doctor before too long, or at least some more pewter.

Eventually, they make it to the hanger.

Getting a lightflyer is surprisingly easy. There are no guards waiting to intercept them when they exit the passage, so after Simon checks for bystanders through a peephole, they slip out unseen. 

Gregor is lying in Droushnakovi’s arms, breathing softy, but still covered in blood. Simon is only wearing part of his uniform, having forgotten his jacket in his haste to get Lady Alys out, but what remains is similarly bloodstained, both from battle, and from the hemalugry.

The two women look similarly the worse for wear, with blood and grime staining their clothing.

Simon leads the raged party over to a young lieutenant, who appears to be the officer on duty. He currently has his back to them, talking to an ensign with a stack of flimsys.

“Lieutenant,” Simon says, to get his attention, and the young man swings around, saluting automatically. His eyes widen, and his hand wavers from the salute in shock as he takes in the party.

“What happen?” he breaths, then adds a respectful sir as an afterthought.

“There was an attack on the Palace,” Simon says as crisply as he can manage, “We need a lightflyer to evacuate immediately.”

The officer states at their party again, before coming to himself and nodding. “Yes, sir, right away!” He turns to bark orders to some men standing nearby, who then run off, presumably to prepare the lightflyer. He turns back to their party. “Does his highness need a medtech?”

“No,” answers Simon, “We need to get out of here as soon as possible. His condition is not life threatening, and there is a doctor waiting at the safe house.”

The lieutenant nods. “Very good sir.” He continues to gaze over the rest of the party. “Is that Lady Vorpatril?” he asks, somewhat uncertainly “We have orders to detain her, and deliver her to the Ministry of Political Education. For her own protection.”

Simon doesn’t know what to say. He can’t kill the man, not while their escape is still being procured, and the young officer is just following orders, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His mind is completely blank, and he cannot think of a single excuse this man would believe.

Surprisingly, Drou can. “Don’t be stupid,” she tells the man. “Lady Vorpatril needs to be evacuated immediately as well. It is unsafe for her to remain in the city.”

“I don’t think-” the lieutenant begins, but then Drou cuts him off.

“It is treason to willfully endanger the life of a member of the Emperor’s family.”

 “I don’t see what that has to do with-oh.” The man looks back at Lady Alys, who is standing there serenely, one hand over her stomach. “That explains- Of course Lady Vorpatril will be accompanying you. Should I contact his Majesty on the comconsole?”

“No!” says Simon, perhaps a bit too loudly. “No. We have reason to believe the coms are compromised- even the secure lines. We will be contacting his Majesty when we reach the safe house.”

“Right. Very good sir.”

The men are wheeling the lightfligher into place now. It is a small model, fit for two passengers and a pilot. It is a nondescript dark grey, and could belong to anyone, on either side of this conflict.

“Will you being needing a pilot sir?” the lieutenant asks, “You didn’t say.”

“No,” says Simon, “I will be flying.” His side hurts, but not enough to hinder him, or his piloting. He hopes.

He gets in the front, and Lady Alys and Drou climb in the back, Drou still cradling Gregor in her arms. The men clear away, and the lightflyer taxies, then takes off.

They are away, flying through the air. Simon doesn’t relax until they clear the city, and then the outer perimeter, where there are no more patrol stations where a Mistborn could be waiting to pull down their flyer in a duralium fuel pull.

They fly till they reach the Vorbretten’s district, where they leave the lightflyer. Simon gives Gregor more pewter while Drou procures a groundcar.

From there, they drive to Tanery Base, headquarters of the Vorkosigan faction. Once there, and under the dubious eyes of the gaurds, Simon demands an audience with Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan, because he knows that she will do everything she can protect children.

That was how this damned war had started, after all, he reflects. Serg had ordered the death of her son, the not yet born Piotr Miles Vorkosigan, fearing the baby’s potential. While Aral himself was no allomancer, he came from a line with a long history of producing Mistborn and Mistings, and Lady Cordelia’s Betan feruchemy was well known. Serg was never one for rivals, especially if they might have acess to some power he himself lacked.

When Cordelia finally arrives, there is a medtech seeing to Gregor. She only takes one look at them all before demanding that they all be moved into the infirmary for proper medical treatment. The guards stutter something about proper security, but after another look from Lady Vorkosigan, they swiftly change their minds. 

Cordelia sits with Droushnakovi, and the two watch over Gregor, who the medtech says will recover in time. For now, the boy sleeps on.

Aral visits Simon there as soon as he hears of their arrival, and they talk about the war, and what comes after and all the difficulties ahead of them yet, but for the moment at least, Simon knows that they are safe.

 


End file.
